


Damn drink

by TheGingerBreadFox (TheGingerFox)



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGingerFox/pseuds/TheGingerBreadFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Nicolas KNOWS he can't drink... but does so ^^ <br/>Non canon as Benrya is never offered a possibility to go back to pussy before TSHTF, but wathever :p<br/>I have no beta reader and am non-native speaker, please bear with me...<br/>ENJOY!!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Damn drink

**Author's Note:**

> Nicolas KNOWS he can't drink... but does so ^^   
> Non canon as Benrya is never offered a possibility to go back to pussy before TSHTF, but wathever :p  
> I have no beta reader and am non-native speaker, please bear with me...  
> ENJOY!!

Her singing is done and Alex blushes, drowned in the sweet attentions of the spectators in the Pussy. Twighlights and Normals equal in offering her compliments, nice words, flowers, little cards... A group of adorable Twighlight kids offer her a colorful group drawing of her (a blue blob with big boobs and black hair) singing with the band... A little girl says she wants to be beautiful "just like her" when she's grown... _Oh sweetheart..._

 

The hustle and bustle quickly calms down as the band embarks in a lively rock and roll. People go back to dancing, drinking and socializing.  
  
Alex brushes hair out of her face while walking towards the Benrya man, standing in a corner. She extands her hand to him, offering him a drink: "Nicolas?" He waves a 'no' but she squirms: "Just one..." she shows her two hands, both occupied with drinks: "Take the one you want, I won't drink both..."  
He should say no. Her face is almost worried, as ever when she interrogates him. His gaze lowers from her delicate face to her generous cleavage, the bright blue dress Worick insisted on her to put on, molding her thin waist and shapely hips... She's still patiently staring at him, both hands extanded to him. _I sure will regret that_ , he thinks, before taking one at random.

Keeping respectable distance, she puts her back at the wall next to him. She smiles. Everyone here is so nice, Twighlights and Normals all the same... She sips at her drink while observing Cristiano-san admonesting Galahad for something he didn't do properly, according to her. The contrast between her little frame and the gigantic Twighlight is funny somehow. Adriano-san intervenes and takes some of his boss' lecture.  
People around them are dancing. The music becomes louder.

 

Finishing her drink, she turns back to the deaf man by her side. She signs while speaking, unheard anyway due to the loud music: "You want to dance?" His dark eyes throw daggers at her when he signs a sharp 'No'. She pouts, taking his empty glass to discard it on a nearby table. Their finger brush when she takes the glass from his hand.  
She doesn't give up, turning back to him. Her cheecks are lighly flushed from the drinks she had. _Right, she had a couple of them._ She's still respectuously more than an arm away from him, but the way she bends to him to plea only offers him a better view on the bare skin of her throat and shoulders.  
He averts his eyes a second. _Drinking was a bad idea._ He can feel the alcohol hitting, even harder as he didn't eat anything since morning. She's still asking him to dance, her huge blue eyes almost wet with tears. _Gosh..._ why couldn't he just ignore her? Let her be like he does with anyone else. _Ignoring Worick, **even** Worick, is easy compared to ignoring her..._  
He shrugs and explains: "Can't hear. Can't dance." She opens her eyes wide: "If that's the only problem, just follow me!" _Why didn't you just say NO??... Crap..._ Desinhibited by alcohol, she grabs his hand to drag him to the dance floor. Sighing, he doesn't resist.

 

It feels so awkard. There, one the edge of the dance floor... attempting to dance to a music he can't even hear. His eyes flicker to every detail around them before resting on her face just before his. "...it's alright, I'll guide you, okay? Nicolas?" He nods. Her smile is so bright he doesn't add a displeased groan. Well, he can feel the bass sound through his bones, _if that can count as "hearing"..._

 

"Hey." No reaction...  
 The young boss of the Cristiano family turns around at Adriano tugging gently at her shirt. She follows his eyes to find a flushed Alex holding Nicolas by the hand, dragging him on the dance floor.  
She gives her elder a quizzical look, before opening her mouth, letting it gapped open a moment, and closing it with an audible "plop". The music is so loud they can't speak with words, but the looks they exchange show mutual comprehension. _I didn't even notice Nicolas was into Alex... or the other way round... well they pretty match together._  
She giggles when Galahad, shown by his fellow collegue, realizes his chances to seduce their new singer are closing to zero. He spurts a "damn midget faker" and goes away to the angriest night of work ever.  
Loretta devilishly signs to the band to switch to a slow. Shaping her hands like a heart, she grins to them. Alex sure is a great woman. She has been crazy enough to help her during the attack on Pussy, discarding her own security. So if she is into the deaf Benrya, she would help as much as she could... Life is dangeroux, anyway, so let's enjoy it at least!  
The rock n roll song  comes to an end and progressively mutes into a langorous slow.

 

Alex glances at the band. A slow? Her partner has a blank, almost frowned expression on his face. She explains in words and a few uneasy signs: "an easier dance for me to show you." By the way the musicians move, he can guess it's a slower music. Couples are forming and starting to dance... he notes it's something for couples to dance on... ... ...  
His train of though wreck when her warm body presses against his. Fumbling a bit, she takes both his hands to press them on her curvy hips, before knotting hers beneath his neck. Still hanging from him like a vine, she backs up a bit to allow him to read: "I'll lead, okay?". Her long nails send shivers in his spince when they lightly brush the sides of his neck. Her pulpy warmth burn through his clothes. But he wouldn't do a move to escape.  
He can feel one of her hands gently tap a regular rythm on his shoulder. _The tempo_ , he realizes. He can only see the dark hair from the side of her head, the hem of her ear, the honey colored skin of her distracting low neckline, and the affriolating curve of her backline, clad in blue satin...  
She starts to rock gently from side to side, following the music he can't hear. Her light tapping hasn't stop. He follows her without any trouble. Not hearing doesn't mean he's completely useless with himself. He can feel her warm breath on his neck as she laughs softly. She's surprised, or amused?... She doesn't break their embrace to sign or talk, but it's fine to him. He inhales her sweet feminine scent, a bit of vanilla from her shower gel, a bit of freash sweat from singing under the spotlights... He tightens his grip on her hips as they dance, and she presses unreservedly against him. Her breath is soft and regular. Her hearts pounds against him, he can feel its accelerated gallop.

 

The air is overheated between them as she backs up. Head slightly down, cheeks flushed, she raises her eyes to meet his. His grip on her waist doesn't gets weaker. Resting her hands flat on his chest, she explains: "Song's over..." After a moment that seems endless to both, he lets go of her as if snapped. He huskily turns his back on her.  
She's about to follow him when she spots the young Cristiano leader waving at her. Giving her collegue a last glance, she heads toward their regular employer.

 

Resting his back against a wall, he frowns. Alcohol reallys isn't his hit. He goes through his pockets to get his uppers and crunches a couple, dry. They taste like chalk but he's grown used to it. His mouth is dry from the dangerous mix. That is why he _always_ refused to drink, even when a drank Worick tried his best to entice him to... Swallowing a couple of time he observes the female Benrya being paid.  
He'll have to be _extra_ cautious with himself. His self-control isn't in the best shape of his life...

 

"Well done, everyone was delighted!" The blonde girl hands her an enveloppe. "Hope to see you on Thursday!"  
The colored woman smiles wide: "Of course! I'll come on Wednesday early afternoon to train with the band, as usual."  
Loretta smiles back. Working with Alex was easy. She wasn't acting out like a wanna-be celebrity. She was just natural and helping.  
Alex brushes her cheek with a hand: "It was great, but I didn't get much sleep last night... I can't keep my eyes open anymore..." She doesn't explicit that she had nighmares about Pussy being attacked... and her being trapped in said bloodbath. She doesn't add that she had more than a couple drinks, before and after singing, and even if her prestation didn't show it, she feels dizzy and would blissfully meet the couch. On that Sunday night, Worick has taken extra clients at their place... reason why he wasn't visiting Pussy as he usually enjoyed. Reason why she had the couch. _Mh, whatever... it's better than the floor..._  
Loretta joyfully half pushes half drags her toward her fellow Benrya: "We'll be fine, go back home! I'll see you on Wednesday! We want our star to be fresh as ever!..."

 

Nicolas sports his usual unexpressive face, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes darting around. He pushes himself off the wall with his elbows, nods a silent goodbye at the young Cristiano, and starts walking toward the exit alongside the singer he could never hear perform.

 

He can see, now that they are only the two of them out on the street, that she is slightly drunk. _Not wasted, far from it._ It was Worick's weakness, to get so drunk his tagged had to drag him home... Not hers.  
She is just a bit swaying with her high heels on irregular pavement. Blue pump heels, tastily assorted to her dress. Worick's extravaganza again. He has to admit it suits her perfectly. His _employer_ always has pretty good (and expensive) taste. Reminents of his youth?...  
Bowing forward shamelessly a few steps ahead of him, she attemps to get rid of her brand-new high heels, keeping her balance on a wall. She unwittingly offers him a show. Her already short dress rises up from the movement, showing the bottom of her round ass while she fumbles with the buckles one-handed. _White lace panty... with blue details on it..._ His mind rolls freewheel for a moment. He feels so hot he could be in a solar eruption and not notice.  
Finally she vanquishes and raises back. _Show's over..._ Her shoes dangle from her left hand while she tells him, face red: "...better... I don't want to sprain an ankle on the pavement." _...Better... the sight couldn't be better..._ Smacking himself mentally, he just nods in agreement.  
Alcohol desihibits him... so does the uppers he had to take to fight the "downer-like" effect the liquid had on him... He _really_ has to keep an eye on himself, he thinks. He finds himself eyeing his coworker a bit too much when they quietly walk back home... _but then, watching has never hurt anyone, has it?_ The light of the almost full moon hits her face and he can see she's... speaking? No, singing. She reciprocates his look without stopping singing in a low voice.

 

They are too soon at their place. The lights are off.  
_Is Worick done yet?_ she questions herself.  
She walks up the stairs silently, her bare feet not making a noise. She doesn't notice her male collegue's faint smile, walking up behind her. Her shapely legs contract in a very enticing manner. Her lower back rocks from side to side with her move, and he can see the sweet line where the soft roundness of her behind merges into her muscular tights... and that white lace...  
_Stop - it -_ he intimates himself.  
The female Benrya innocently manoeuvers the handle, only to find it locked. No one's home... _Did he go out for a job?_ It wouldn't be unusual. Then he worked all day long, and she wonders how he could... _keep up_ with his clients... She unlocks the door with the key she kept in her bra, flashing again a peep of the white lace underwear to her overaware collegue. She opens to a dark, usual office. I slightly smells of cold tobacco.  
She discards her shoes in a corner and walks to a window to open it up. Breathing the fresh air of the night, she can hear the deaf one's steps going down the stairs ; the door of the fridge clics open ; his steps return, and the couch creaks under his weight.  
The lights are still out. The moon is clear enough.  
_Why did you just come back? Just go away from her!_ a side of his mind orders. The Twighlight grins again, savoring the sight. His body relaxes on the couch. His mind is wide awake though. _Too much upper..._ The feeling is not desagreable though. Far better than Downer or alcohol alone... Her enticing silhouette turns away from the moonlight and she picks the bottle he left on her side of the table. The caring attention has her smile and sign 'thanks'.  
She lets herself fall in an armchair, drinking from the bottle carelessly, taking a pained foot to massage it. When she takes her eyes off it, she meets Nicolas'. He has a feral grin on his face, glowing eyes, and she realizes she has been showing maybe a bit too much of tights for her own sake. Gulping down the remaining water, she then spurts: "First in the bathroom!" and jolts downstairs.

 

The little hair at the back of her neck are standing straight. _When he has that look..._ she swallow hard, locking the door behind her. She's not completely scared of him... not completely... but seeing him frenetic a couple of times has been enough. _Why?... Drinking a single drink couldn't do that, could it?..._ Only clad in her underwear, she lifts a hand to her mouth when she realizes he took Upper along with it. A handfull... Well Worick has leisurely talked to her about Nic overdosing, and what to do. Shoot him with a downer serynge... or two...  
She finishes to undress and turns on the shower. Her head resting on the tiled wall, she lets the hot water pour on her voluptuous body.  
How is she gonna give him Downers? Does she really have to?... _Worick has never said anything about consent..._ then Nicolas was a Twighlight and they were never asked if they were okay with anything... apart at Benrya...  
 He was their friend, not a slave...  
She thinks about it while drying herself.  
_Well, I'll go up, talk to him, and see if he needs Downers._

 

Conforted, wearing a fresh shirt borrowed from Worick as a night dress, she exits the exiguous bathroom. The Twighlight is exerting himself doing crunch-ups on his old armchair. She stops in the doorway. He stops mi-air and lowers himself to the floor, breathing hard.  
_OK, so that won't be enough._ Nicolas can feel the energy bubbling in him, his patience thinning... Maybe he should have taken Downers, even if that meant being sick...  
He leaps in front of her.  
She hesitantly says, eyes averted, signing along: "Em... Nicolas..." She awkardly plays with a finger in a strand of her wet hair. "You seem... well... it seems... maybe you took too much uppers"  
He can smell her clean feminine scent, her shampoo, and along a clear undersmell of fear. That's sort of arousing. OK, plain arousing.  
When she raises her eyes, she meets her glowing look and feral grin.  
_Okay so how do I get to the downers..._ She takes a step back. He closes the distance in a single stride. His hands smash into the wall on each side of her shoulders and she shrieks in surprise. Hit with fear she reflexively claws at his face.  
She's a bit dizzy when she comes back to reality, almost unconscious while standing. She's pressed against the bathroom wall, face first. She can feel the burning contact of the Twighlight against her back. His breathes blows hot air in her ear. One of his large hands forcefully trapping hers above her head. She pleads, almost crying: "Nicolas, you're hurting me..."  
_Of course... he's high on upper... and he can't hear nor see me._  
She flattens agains the wall to find room enough to turn and face him. He's pressed so hard against her she can't turn completely. She just turns her head to the side, sobbing softly: "Nicolas, you're **hurting** me..." His teeth not-too-gently bite at the crook of her neck, sucking a bit before licking all the way up to her ear, eyes closed. _She tastes fabulous..._ All his senses are tingling. Her soft body is squished against his. Her warmth, her scent... Inebriating...  
When he opens his eyes, he can see a trail of tears down her cheek. She's sobbing quietly, the side of her face against the tiled wall. He freezes.  
He completely lost it.  
She almost falls on the floor when he steps back. She slowly lets herself down, kneeling there unmoving. The Twighlights rushes upstairs. She can hear fumbling around, then nothing.

 

Putting herself together, she stands. The hickey on her neck is turning bright red. She details in the mirror, running a hesitant finger over it. Now that the terror is gone, she can feel the burnt in her belly, the wild rythm of her own heart, even the unassumed want for... more... _What the heck happened?..._  
Everything is so silent.  
Suddenly worried, she walks toward the stairs. She can hear a soft breathing. Somehow she fears he would be gone... Fear? When he just assaulted her?...  
He's sitting on the couch, looking very pale on the face, brushing the palm of one hand with a thumb. A bottle of Downers on the table. She quietly approaches. Not that he could hear her footsteps anyway...  
"Go AwAY" he croacks.  
She stops on her steps. "Nicolas..." _I'm not angry_ she wants to say, but he doesn't look up to read her lips or signs.  
"GO AWAY!" he almost screams.  
Not moving instantly, she searches for a way to make things better... before retreating downstairs, head down. He sighs when he sees her finaly leave in his peripherical vision. _How am I gonna deal with that?..._ He knows she's scared of him... and he gives her good reason to be...  
He presses is head in his hands, elbows on the table. Downers always make him feel sick. Nausea, vertigo, cold sweat... He closes his eyes in a futile attempt to fight the feeling.  
A presence startles him. His eyes pop open and he throws his hand to his side.  
She's there again.  
He almost knocks off the glass of water she holds in one of her hands. She blinks a couple of times, unmoving, before he groans softlier than the time before: "gO aWaY..." Not complying, she insists the glass on him. Right, he's thirsty... He accepts it and gulps it down, before discarding it on the table and waiting for her to just leave.  
Instead of that, she sits by his side on the couch.  
Downers are having an effect, right, they're making him _sick like Hell_... but he can still feel her warmth even at a distance, smell her sweet feminine scent... The hickey on her neck is bright red now. He did that.  
The reminder of his loss of control embarasses him. He could have hurt her, too. But she doesn't even seem angry, or smell of fear anymore, which is weird... He's staring at the table, and a delicate hand crosses his sight. She's tapping at the table to get his attention, but he just turns away slighly as a silent answer.  
He's startled when her soft weight is pressed against his side. Wide-eyed he peeks towards her: she closed her eyes and pressed herself against him. Her head is on his shoulder, one arm around his back, and her breathing is calm and steady. _She's not scared. At all. Is she crazy?_ He stays there for endless minutes before deciding he's being ridiculous.  
Slowly unfolding from his position, he can see she's not reacting. A small smile is on her lips and her cheeks are definitely pink... from alcohol, without doubt. Well, thinking about her soft curves against his side doesn't make his stomach settle. Trying not to wake her up, he slowly slides to his side, hoping to put some distance between their heated bodies. He freezes when she moans in her drunk sleep and repts against his side, borrowing her face in his chest, inhaling deeply before laying still again.  
He relaxes as she doesn't move anymore. Her breath is the steady one of a sleeper.  
He closes his eyes to relax. Just to relax a minute...

  
When he wakes up, a cover is hugging their warm bodies. _Worick._ And it's late on top of it as the light is strong.

Said partner is smiling wildly on the other seat, faking to read with a cup of coffee.  
_He didn't stay at his "job" for the night. Shit._


End file.
